


Hang Your Holiday Rainbow Lights

by whetstone



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:15:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whetstone/pseuds/whetstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Materialism, Christmas, Jiyong being an ass and Seunghyun in monkey pajamas. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hang Your Holiday Rainbow Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from The National's "Gospel." Originally posted 12/2009.

The apartment is dingy and the carpet is stained with God-knows-what. There’s barely enough room for the dog kennels in the living room and the bed and the bureau are jammed up next to each other in the cramped excuse for a bedroom, but it's _theirs_ , so Jiyong cuts money out of his shopping budget and uses it to buy a blender, a microwave, cups, toilet paper, and light bulbs. Seunghyun spends his nights cording up the television and the internet receiver and he walks the dogs after whatever slapped-together meal they’ve had for dinner.

It’s not much, but it’s more than just existing, at least until Jiyong begins to linger in front of the small boutiques he used to frequent and Seunghyun passes out on the couch instead of doing the ever-growing mound of dishes in the sink. Soon Jiyong is alternating between yelling and steely silences and Seunghyun spends most of his time at work, asleep, or out with friends.

 

 

One day, Jiyong slides the key into the door, wrestling with the shoebox he’s trying to fit into his backpack. He almost slips on a plastic department store bag littering the entryway and his good mood begins to dissipate. “Seunghyun,” he calls, the syllables spitting out sharp from his mouth.

“Over here,” he hears from the vicinity of the living room.

The window is twinkling with golden lights that dangle from white rubber cords, all wound into place and held up with clear tape. There is a tree, a small one, filling up the corner of the room with sweet and spicy pine smells, half-decorated with tinsel and popcorn balls and rainbow colored Christmas lights, and the sooty old fireplace has all of Seunghyun’s red and green toys placed neatly along the mantelpiece. The vacuum’s even leaning against the opposite wall, still plugged in, a trail of dark carpet leading to its resting place.

It’s perfect.

“You left this in the hall,” Jiyong says, flapping the plastic bag in one hand.

“Sorry.” Seunghyun’s voice is muffled by the thick circle of tape he has in his mouth. He’s on a ladder, stringing up the rest of the lights. “Can you hand me the scissors?” he says after a beat, and it sounds more like _mff mrr aa hhh zhh hmmfr_ , but he points to the tool, so Jiyong picks up and hefts it into his hand.

Jiyong spends dinnertime cutting his meat into bite-sized pieces that he feeds to the dogs.

“What’s up with you?” Seunghyun asks around a mouthful of rice, and Jiyong just shrugs, eyes lingering on the dimple that appears and disappears as Seunghyun chews. He spends the rest of the night blistering his fingers on the touchscreen of his cell phone, and if Seunghyun’s disappointed he keeps it to himself.

\---

The sharp vibration of a new message knocks him out of his stupor the next morning. He blinks and swivels his chair around in his cubicle, flattening down his bangs with one hand before reaching into his pocket with the other.

 _Sorry_ , the message reads. Underneath is a pixelated photo of Jiyong, a circle of Christmas lights set wreath-like around his head. Charlie is in his lap, mid-lick to Jiyong’s arm. _I’m an asshole_.

Seunghyun rolls his eyes and tries hard to quell the bubbles swirling up from his gut and into his chest. He types out _any excuse for self-portraits_ and hits “reply.”

\---

The tree is finished, he notes, dropping his bag onto the couch. There are baubles strung along the branches that look more expensive than they can afford, and instead of the bubble wrap from the lights actual presents lay underneath, wrapped in crisp white paper and red velvet ribbon. The popcorn balls are still there, but there are (Seunghyun has to squint and walk up to them, turn them over in his fingers to make sure) Medicom Birthday Bears dangling here and there, all twelve if he isn’t mistaken. The vacuum is gone, in the closet most likely, and the lights along the window are restrung with actual nails, twisted into elaborate loops that go around the length of the room. There are even curtains -- _curtains_ \-- hanging from the rack above the window.

Seunghyun sits down on the couch and stares.

“I’m pretty awesome, right?”

He jumps, and Jiyong saunters into the room, Gaho in his arms. The dog is wearing a Christmas sweater emblazoned with jumping reindeer and white polka dots, his tail thumping against Jiyong’s elbow.

“He’s too big for you to carry,” Seunghyun says, scrambling for the bag half-squashed underneath him.

“Don’t be an ass,” Jiyong scolds, and Seunghyun’s eyebrows shoot up so high that he has to laugh. “Okay, okay, I know. I already said I was sorry earlier.”

“On the phone. And cute shit doesn’t work with me.”

“Right.” Jiyong lets his eyes travel from the Spongebob keychain hanging from the bag to the toys on the mantel. “Yeah, okay.” He reaches over to pull down the sheaf of papers Seunghyun’s holding, punching him on the knee. “Hurry up and change out of those clothes so you can... open presents and stuff.”

 

 

“I didn’t mean pajamas,” Jiyong protests as Seunghyun sits on the floor next to the tree, the monkey heads on his pants matching the colors of the lights twinkling against the pine needles.

“You should’ve been more specific then.” Seunghyun yawns and leans back on his elbows. “Go ahead and open them.”

Jiyong digs his fingers into his jeans and exhales. “You’re so...”

“What?”

“They’re for you, idiot.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly. He reaches for the closest box, fingers hesitating at the ribbon. “Should I save the paper?”

“No,” Jiyong tuts, “do you really think I’d do that?”

Under the shiny white paper is a Kubrick Where the Wild Things Are set. Seunghyun turns the box over, looking for dented corners, before he stares into Max’s plastic face and sets it down on the carpet. “Now you open one.”

“No, they’re...” Jiyong clears his throat, “they’re yours.”

“All of them?”

“Just open them before I change my mind.”

There are more toys and a new turntable, shoes (Seunghyun protests over the third pair and earns another scathing look from Jiyong), shirts, even the blazer he’d tried on at Comme de Garçons whose price made the eyes pop out of his head.

“Jiyong, I didn’t get you anything yet.”

He shrugs, the set of his shoulders tight. “It’s okay.”

Seunghyun gestures to the array of boxes scattered and opened around him. “I don’t --”

“No take-backs,” Jiyong says, standing up. “I lost most of the reciepts already.”

“Yeah, but the rent --”

“Don’t ever say I don’t do anything for you,” Jiyong grumbles. He pushes up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and makes for the kitchen. “You better clean up all that wrapping paper.”

Seunghyun’s mind whirs with prices and resale values as he gathers up the white scraps and the red ribbons, balling them up in his hands. His paycheck can cover the rent for this month, he thinks as he tosses the trash into the can, gathering as many of the gifts as he can into his arms. _Wooden hangers for the jacket and the sweater_ , he manages to note amidst the Won signs swirling around in his head. Maybe he can convince Jiyong to return some of it, or all of it: he’s seen his credit card bills before. The debt collectors would be thankful, at least.

“What the fuck?"

The closet, usually crammed to the brim with all sorts of gaudy/sleek/expensive things, is about half empty. Shoe boxes still sit underfoot and Seunghyun’s work clothes are still crammed into their corner, but the leather jackets with the studs, the patched up jeans, the giant necklaces are gone. The sunglasses hanging in a rack from the door are severely depleted. Seunghyun fumbles for the hangers and stows his things away, dropping the toys on the bed and making for the other room.

“You sold all your stuff.”

“Just some of it.” Jiyong is hunched over the dog bowls, dumping kibble into them. “I was meaning to anyway,” he explains. “The whole punk aesthetic is starting to get old.” He shoves the bag of food into Seunghyun’s arms, his hands gesturing into the empty air. “And besides, consolidating your wardrobe is a good thing. It lets you buy more investment pieces.”

“Or three pairs of shoes not in your size,” Seunghyun says. Jiyong throws a glance at him, an embarrassed smile digging into his features before it widens into a grin.

“Now tell me I’m awesome.”

\---

“You’re awesome,” Seunghyun mumbles into his neck. Jiyong sighs and pours another shot of whiskey into his glass. “So awesome, seriously.” He shifts around to pinch his cheek. “That Kaws thing... 8/10 in the entire fucking world.”

Jiyong swats his hand away. He rolls his eyes at Youngbae’s grin and gestures at him for another drink, watching as he meanders back down the bar. “Yeah, I know.”


End file.
